


Souring Youth

by MyMyMissAmericanPie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Romance, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, at least it starts there, but added as needed, many characters will show up wayyyy later, not sure where this is going, perhaps, possible angst, smut tbd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-05-15 12:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19295356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMyMissAmericanPie/pseuds/MyMyMissAmericanPie
Summary: Your family and community may have been content to stay in Monroe, Indiana for their entire lives, but not you. Nuh-uh, you wanted more than what you could get here. However, you are a vital part of the family business and a loved daughter, so your father won't even entertain you going anywhere out of state for college. Little does he know, you've already confirmed which college you would be attending in 2042. After an argument between yourself and your father that ends badly, you receive a surprise message that convinces you to head over to Bloomington, Indiana. Your plan was only to stay for a few weeks. If you had known how the trip was going to turn out for you, you wouldn't have come.





	1. The Farmer's Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey hey and thanks for reading this fanfic. I want this to be a plot-heavy story, so buckle up your seatbelts and get ready to join me for the long haul. All comments and critiques are appreciated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your a farmer's daughter with a demanding job working on the family farm, but isn't there more out there than just what your little town can offer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! 
> 
> This is my first time posting my work online, so any and all feedback will help me, the writer, gauge what you, the reader, want to read. 
> 
> I have a decent idea of where i want this fic to go, but I'm open to your ideas :)

The prattling of cicadas and the brush of soft breezes barely registered in your mind, which was focused on Mr. Morgan’s malfunctioning car. A stinging sunburn was beginning to form on your nape, and sweat that clung to the baby hairs of your neck no longer alleviated any pain. The open hood of the vehicle stared up at you, steaming and sputtering its woes. 

“Do you know what’s wrong with it?”

Mr. Morgan was a jittery, nervous young man; the kind that looked like he must’ve been the weakest kid in his class growing up, and who always wound up in trouble for something he didn’t do. Flaxen, stringy hair on his head was wildly tossed about by the gentle wind. His lanky body swayed with the tall stalks of corn that were in the surrounding fields. He wasn’t born in this town; that much you knew. One day he just appeared, bought a snippet of land from your father, and had been living there in a little shack ever since. He kept to himself a lot, and being surrounded by miles and miles of land owned by one person meant that he didn’t have to put up with many neighbors. You took pity on the man because of his anxious behavior, but at some point he would have to learn how to fix his own car. Understandably, Mr. Morgan was petrified of the burly and assertive resident-repair-man Mr. Mcguire, but to call you on your day off because of such a simple problem rubbed you the wrong way. For pete's sake, it felt like you were coming down to his house every week to teach him how to operate his own vehicle. 

“Mr. Morgan,” your voice lilted from exhaustion before continuing in a slow manner. “When you first purchased this car from Mrs. Myers did she tell you the importance of refilling the engine coolant every now and then?” He blinked dumbly as he wiped away fresh sweat with a soiled handkerchief. “Because to be quite frank, Mr. Morgan, I know that lady well, and I doubt she’d leave out something so important.” 

“Is that what those blue bottles of slush are for?” He asked, pointing back at his house a few feet away. 

You nodded. 

As if sensing your waning patience, Mr. Morgan scuttled over to the house, throwing a ‘Lemme get one for ya!’ over his shoulder before disappearing behind a mesh door. You were displeased with yourself for letting your annoyance get the better of you, but you didn’t feel bad per se. Mr. Morgan reappeared almost as quickly as he had ran inside, and produced a bottle of electric blue engine coolant for you to handle. 

“Okay, now watch what I do.” Untwisting the cap, you showed him how to refill the coolant tank. “Like most other machines, cars are powered by engines. These engines convert gasoline into motion by a process called internal combustion, which essentially means that the engines generate power by causing a series of controlled explosions within them. The explosions happen at the top of the pistons and create huge amounts of expanding gas that push the pistons downward. That downward stroke is what gets a car’s wheels to move. Then, the waste gas is removed from the engine via the exhaust, and the process repeats itself until you turn off the engine.” He nodded, no longer looking at what you were doing, and instead stood gaping at you, unabashedly. 

“Engine coolant is important because it keeps the engine from overheating. If the engine becomes too hot, engine failure will occur, and I’m afraid even I wouldn’t be able to fix it after that. Lack of engine coolant can also warp the cylinder heads and the engine block, two parts that are difficult to replace depending on the car brand you have.” 

“Where’d you learn all that, Miss?” He looked at you in awe. What was a senior in highschool like you doing walking around with all that information in your head? 

“I read it in a book, and still haven’t forgotten it, thankfully.” Smiling, you brought your hand to his shoulder. “I better get on back home now.” 

“Alright. Thank you for the help! ‘N sorry for interrupting your day off.” 

You nodded your farewell before setting off up the dusty pathway. Being this deep within your father’s property meant it’d be a long walk back home. You brought your hands behind your head and whistled a happy tune to pass the time, before looking up. 

The sky today was as its always been: absolutely gorgeous. Picturesque blue skies and fluffy cotton ball clouds marched peacefully with their shepard, the wind current. Hairs atop the clouds’ heads were highlighted by the warm sun, while their bellies were heavy with fodder and cast in deep shadow. Between the masses of fluff, small bits of content blue managed to peep through the onslaught of white. The constant and calming sun of the mid United States cast light against the rolling, unbroken green of Indiana’s fields. Oh darling Indiana. The state where fields of red flax, wheat, and rye, and oats, and flaxseed, and hay stretched as far as the physical eye could see. 

The people that lived out here only imagined what they saw right in front of them. They didn’t want anything different. No siree, no thank you. I mean, what’s the point of leaving a place that had everything you’d ever known and needed? A place where you knew all the school kids, their families, and then their families all in one town. A place where porch-top gossip was the best form of entertainment for about 100 odd miles, and everybody knew everyone else’s business as if it were their own. Nobody who grew up here had reason to leave. Nah sir, life out here wasn’t too bad! 

However, you thought differently, much to the chagrin of your parents. You’d seen the outside world with your minds eye. Read books about people with high expectations for themselves too. People that aspired for the greatest anyone had ever seen simply because they could. Authors from new and old gave you the world that you starved for in inked letters on beaten pages, but it wasn’t enough. You were thankful that Mrs. Jones had been so attentive while educating you in school, and even more so when she gave you the keys to the library so that you’d have constant access to more books. She would even take you to and from the library over the weekend because your dad said it was just too far and he had too much work to do on the farm, all of which was true. Mrs. Jones gave you access to the world outside this town, and for that words could not express your gratitude, but dammit if all this knowledge didn’t make you insatiable! Oh! you wanted to experience it first hand, not just from the retellings of people lucky enough to have been there. Like Janie, you wanted your own pear tree with its singing bees, and your own Tea Cake to make you laugh and cry and feel all kinds of ways. 

All those books gave you a confidence that only true education could provide. They helped you set standards for yourself. Made you push yourself towards heights you previously didn’t know you could reach. Having realized at an early age that, in order to get where you wanted, you needed to study, you applied yourself to your academics. You still had a semblance of a social life, but your inner drive and your parents wouldn’t permit you to be out long, so most of your nights were filled with studying. At least, you had hoped that most of your nights could have been like that. It seemed that your dad just refused to understand the future you saw for yourself. 

As the second eldest child of the family, you were expected to be fully involved in the family business. No questions asked, and no way to back out of it. When you were old enough to walk, your parents proudly carted you to the small animal pens on the farm, and still have photos of you and your older brother holding ducklings and feeding chickens to show for it. Your family owned 130 acres of rich Indiana land, of which 12 acres made up the grounds of the main house. Your parents never saw reason in taking their young daughter out to the rest of the property where the actual business was kept until you were in middle school, when your dad finally decided to tour the property with you. After all, as a new worker on the farm you would need to know where the refinery was. Surprise! Grandparents and cousins congratulated you on being officially added to the family business, pinching your cheeks and taking photos of you in your new uniform all the while. 

Then, having bought the adjacent farm and it’s property, an additional 200 acres of land, the business began to pick up fast. Your father had you working weekends and Monday evenings in the refinery, helping keep the floors clean and tending the machines. 

As you grew older, your dad’s business grew to a point where there were enough employees to do the hard labor of picking and processing, so he instead began to teach you and your older brother how to manage the farm’s money. At first it wasn’t too difficult; everything could be managed in a ledger. Even when your brother enlisted to fight in the Omnic Crisis, your 13-year-old self was still certain you could take care of it on your own. Your mom offered to help, but you knew that running an entire household and co-running a giant agribusiness was not an easy task, so you politely refused. Eventually, the business quadrupled with demand for increasingly scarce daily necessities, and now you were managing several bank accounts and expenditures all on your own. From once only doing weekend farm labor to now a full 7 day work schedule, your body and mind had trouble keeping up with the long hours.

You tried to tell your dad that it was too much for you to manage school work and the accounts, but he refused to believe you. This work was for the stability of the family, yours included. If you couldn’t put out that effort for the people that mattered most to you, he’d done something wrong in raising you. 

Insensitive insults like that got you going, and were the beginning of many heated arguments. You suffered long hours and little interaction with friends save for your time at school, all for the sake of family. Who was he to call you arrogant and disrespectful? To assume that because you wanted to leave and chase your dreams instead of staying on the farm meant that you would abandon the people you loved? You loved your dad, and he loved you too, but sometimes he was just so overbearing that you gave up trying to get him to understand. 

All in all, living out here in a tight-knit community still definitely had it’s pros. Protection and trust between neighbors and kinsmen is a rarity in the modern world, but it was rich in supply here; however, where community relations thrived and flowered, the weeds of strong hatred for the outside, hatred that bordered xenophobia, intertwined their stems and strangled the buds. Blights of doubt and distrust wiped out any curiosity of what other places had to offer. You were a flower, newly bloomed and defiant against the lies you’ve all been spoon fed, but it’d be a fib to say that your stalk wasn’t a little limp and your petals weren’t a little bleached. 

But the most beautiful flowers are the ones that bloom in adversity, and your pride would not let your yearning be tread upon. 

“I hope you haven’t come to bother me about going to an out of state college again,” your father huffed from his office chair. He was looking over the monthly finance report you’d sent him. His hair was mussed up, and his red eyes magnified by reading glasses made your heart clench. He was very tired. Perhaps this meeting could wait till later. Oh no no no no. When is he not tired? When will you get your next chance? Steel yourself, dammit. 

“This is important to me daddy, please,” you sighed, hoping you could explain yourself with enough finesse to not anger him. The spartan style decor of his office started to unnerve you; there was nothing much to look at besides the man himself. “I got an acceptance letter from Georgetown and have been offered a scholarship. It is my intention to attend as a member of the class of 2046.”

He bit his upper lip and turned the page. 

For a horrendously dizzying moment, your resolve faltered. “I didn’t get a full ride, but I was offered a fellowship that would cover most of the-” 

“I already told you no. Don’t push it.” 

Years worth of frustration and being forced to bend to his will frayed your patience.

“This is a great opportunity for me, dad. Let’s at least talk about-”

“You want to leave your family,” he began to tap his feet on the hardwood flooring. “You want to leave us and never come back, like that brother of yours.” Your brows creased at that, and the muscles beneath your cheek tensed.“I can’t afford another one of you to just disappear on me. It’d take a lot of time to teach someone else to do the important work you do. Besides,” he spared you a glance before looking back at the report, “you didn’t get a full scholarship, and I don’t really want to bother with paying off a student loan.” 

“Maybe if I’d been permitted to study as much as I wanted to, I would have gotten a full scholarship.” The condescending look he gave you displaced something deep within your heart. The odd feeling demanded that you lash out, and so, without a hint of restraint, you continued. “Maybe if you didn’t bulldoze all over my dreams and breath down my neck all the time, I’d have gotten a full ride and could’ve gone with or without your say so.”

That sentence had bite behind it, more than was necessary. Your father sneered and fixed you with his bleary eyes. For some reason, his indignation only made you bolder. 

“I would pay off my student loan with the money that I’d make from my job. I never asked for your money.” 

“Our money!” Wild eyes encased by angered wrinkles stared you down as a loud slam echoed through the room. He had abruptly stood up, and his chair was now laying lamely on its side behind him. “Girl, you better listen to me now, and listen well. All your problems are ours as ours are yours. You will never get anywhere in this life with your obscene arrogance.” His voice was echoing in the spacious room, and was no doubt being filtered through the walls and heard by the rest of the family. You grimaced at the thought of your mother’s startled face from hearing this argument again. “Do you realize just how much I’ve sacrificed for us? Huh? Do you know how much work I put into becoming the biggest agribusiness in Indiana?” 

You rolled your head to the side, hoping indifference would cease his lecture and hide your anxiety. Little did he know, you’d already said yes to their offer since Georgetown is an early decision school. “Daddy please-”

“Shut up!” He was rabid, and his bloodshot eyes scared you. He pointed one long, shaking finger at you and shoved it hard against your nose. You flinched back upon impact, confused as to why he felt the need to touch you. 

The office door opened behind you. You didn’t have to turn around to know that your mother’s wide and terrified eyes were boring into your back. 

“I did it all for you! For you and for our family! How many late nights have I toiled right through and into the morning?” His voice crack made you regret bringing this up. “I’ve made sure you and your siblings were well-fed and properly clothed, and you know damn well how hard it is to find resources with this Omnic thing going on,” he started to cough hard. “I live here, miserable,” a cough, “in my own home and disrespected,” a shuddering breath, “by my own family. How dare you even suggest-” Suddenly he grasped the desk for support, but couldn’t find his chair and ended up sprawled out on the ground. Your mother ran into the room and tried to prop him up and get him help while you stared, horrified. Stress was forcibly shutting his body down. 

Your younger siblings came crashing into the room, like moths attracted to flame. They brushed past you and helped your mother to help your father, but all of it was becoming such a frenzied mess that your father started to cough more. Ghastly hacking sounds of a man dying overpowered the worried and rushed words of his family.

You couldn’t think with all this damn noise. It all just felt like a hive of hornets banging around in your skull. So your body took over for your mind under attack, and you began to run. 

Socks slipping over hardwood, you rocketed your body down three flights of stairs, only barely shifting enough so that you didn’t ram your face into the wall of the final landing. You were breathing harder. Your stomach felt upset. Even the scent of Pine-sol, which usually you thought to be pleasant, packed a hard punch at the moment. Simply put, you needed comfort. 

You tore your way between furniture and a maze of walls before arriving at your older brother’s door, refusing to turn the handle and instead opting to slam your body against it in haste. You were confused. Why the hell did you just run? Why were you crying? Running away was never the answer to any problem, especially when that problem had to do with family. But as you climbed beneath your brother’s duvet that hadn’t been used in years, you made up multiple excuses as to why you couldn’t control the flare of negative energy you’d just experienced. Why can’t your dad understand that you have dreams larger than this town? You never said you would never come back, only that you would find a good job in business maybe somewhere on the east coast. Is it that he can’t see your potential? You’re 18! You’re an adult! He couldn’t keep you here forever simply because he was too selfish to let you go. 

The front part of your head was throbbing relentlessly at this point. Oh gosh, everything hurt, now that you thought about it. You curled further into the blanket and clamped your eyes shut. Maybe you could sleep the pain away? Yeah, you’ll try it. But hiccup after aggressive sniffle refused to let you fall asleep until an hour later, when you’d finally passed out from sheer exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, any and all commentary is welcomed and encouraged :)


	2. Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get an odd message that causes you to leave your hometown for a little while. You meet a handsome, but admittedly strange guy that hops onto the hood of your car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: I curse, fam, and I curse a lot. Not so much that it's distasteful, but there is a fair amount of vulgarity in my writing. By the way, the first chapter and now this one too have a few pop culture and literary references in them. If you spot 'em, say something! The author is sitting here thinking no one understands her references! Commenting when you get a reference fills me with determination ;) Feedback is always appreciated

The harsh, rapid banging of a fist against the window jerked you awake. Your eyes were heavy and bloated from crying the previous night, the hair atop your head unkempt, and that headache that plagued you before still in full swing. Who the hell would come knocking at your brother’s window? Everybody in the entire township of Monroe knew he was an active duty, enlisted member of the US Army, even if your family never talked about it. Unless whoever was knocking had come for you? Well, that was a question easily answered: no one knew you were in this room, and if the only person who might’ve been able to guess where you were guessed correctly, she, your mother, would leave you alone. Also, she certainly wouldn’t come knocking at the window.

You sat confusedly staring at the scenery beyond the glass. The longer you contemplated the absurdity of the situation you had woken up to, the worse your head pounded. The person outside became increasingly impatient, slapping both of their hands repeatedly against the bottom half of the window. Whoever they were, they sure were tall. 

“Miss, please come to the window!” 

Now you were really confused. You were also embarrassed to admit that you’d nearly gone to the window looking like inflamed hell. You swung your legs over the bed, only briefly disentangling your legs from the duvet that begged you to stay, and booked it to the bathroom. A quick splash of water against your face, not unlike the actresses from those Neutrogena commercials, and a harsh rub down with a towel were all you needed before exiting the bathroom and whipping the window open. Mr. Morgan’s happy face smiled up at you from the ground below. He breathed out your name, and bid you good morning. He opened his mouth to say more, but you had already cut him off.

“Mr. Morgan, I really hope you didn’t come all this way just to get me to fix your car again.” His smile morphed to a gape and his expression showed his shame. 

“Oh, no no no, Miss. I haven’t come to pester you about that,” he looked genuinely sad as his head lowered a little. Then his head came back up to look at you, determination in his eyes. “I have a message from your brother,” the letter was removed from his back pocket and lifted to you, “he says that it’s urgent.” Instead of taking the letter, you vacantly looked down upon him. After an awkward pause complete with eye contact, he shook the letter, brushing it against your fingers.

“How’d you know I was in my brother’s room?”

Mr. Morgan didn’t immediately answer, and he wasn’t looking at your eyes anymore, instead staring at the side of the house. He tapped the letter nervously against the window pane, debating what an answer he wanted to give you.

“I had already checked your room, so I thought your brother’s would be the next best guess.” You were too groggy to interrogate him further on that matter. 

“Why do you have it? Why didn’t he text or call me?”

Mr. Morgan didn’t answer at all this time. He just pushed the blank envelope further into your unopening fingers. 

You exhaled and acquiesced, opening the unmarked envelope. 

“Hey little sis! Sorry I didn’t message you the usual way; I didn’t know if dad still had that monitoring software installed on your phone, so I didn’t want to take the risk. Anyways, onto the point! I’ve been accepted into a new program that the government hopes will be the answer to the Omnic Crisis once and for all, so they’ve given me a five week leave before I get put through that hell. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I trust you’ll keep it to yourself. I’m staying with a friend I met while in training. His name is John Morrison. When you get here, he’ll introduce himself as Jack. Don’t ask why, none of us know why he suddenly wanted a name change. We’re at his place in Bloomington for the duration of our leave. I’m assuming you want to see me, so when you get here use a landline to call my cell, and I’ll give you the specific address. Remember, I don’t want mom and dad to hear a word about this.

Andrew” 

The first thing you processed after reading the letter was that your brother’s handwriting had become more like chicken scratch since you’d last seen it. 

The next thing you processed was that he was finally back home. When you finished reading and then rereading the message, you slumped over the windowsill and stared out into the distance. 5 years. It’s been 5 long, lonely, confusing years without him, and all at once Andrew was back, but in Bloomington and not in Monroe. 

The final thing you processed was that your departure would have to wait. You were graduating tomorrow, so you’d need to come up with an excuse to disappear shortly after and not be back for a few weeks.

“Thank you Mr. Morgan.” Gratitude rang true in your voice, and you hoped that your smile didn’t accentuate your freshly woken features. He nodded and smiled before turning around and walking away from the main house. 

“Oh! And Mr. Morgan?” 

He pivoted and looked up expectantly. 

“If my brother is in Bloomington and this letter was not sent through the post, how did you get your hands on it?” 

He only smiled innocently then saluted you in farewell. 

______________

Your friends were surprised when you told them you couldn’t go to the graduation party because of family problems. They might’ve assumed that your dad said no, and you were not at liberty to correct them. After the ceremony, you were congratulated for your speech and being the top of your class. Faces you have seen for the entirety of your life smiled down on you, excitedly telling you they couldn’t wait to see what kind of woman you’d grow up to be and where you would take your father’s business. You had blocked out most of their well wishes, with a content smile on your face the whole time. Pushing through the crowds of proud families, including most of your own, you made your way to your car and drove home. 

Dr.Beiter was just locking the front door behind her as you stopped your car behind her own in the roundabout of the driveway. She said your name in a puzzled way, asking why you weren’t at your graduation party. You were supposed to be the star of the show as the top graduate! What were you doing back at home? 

You fibbed and told her you had come home to pick up a few things a friend had left in your room the other day. 

“Well, don’t let me stop you. Your father is resting in his room right now. Make sure he takes his prescribed medication every few hours, or when he feels his blood pressure increasing. Also, try to keep him away from his work for a few days. I’ve already told your mother all of this, but I’m counting on you to take care of him as well.” She gave you a formal smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“It’ll be difficult since all that man ever does is work, but I’ll do my best, Dr.Beiter.” 

She left you on the front steps, where you waved her off as she drove down the long road that would take her off the property. Going inside, you made your way to the kitchen where you had left a packed satchel of snacks in a corner of the fridge. What’s a 3-hour-road-trip without an adequate supply of food, amiright? 

After slinging it over your shoulder, you walked up to the second floor and into your room to grab your duffle and backpack full of clothes. You were running about, checking last minute to make sure you’d packed everything. Excitement seized your body, making you rush more than necessary and clumsier than usual. You stubbed your big toe hard against your bed frame, and shouted a very loud expletive. You were rocking on the floor and holding your wounded foot by the time your mother had run up the stairs to your room. 

“Are you hurt? Do you need me to get some ice- oh, where are you going?” She stayed in the threshold as she glanced at each of the three packed bags, and then at you. 

“Where am I going? Um, yeah that’s a good question,” you started rather suspiciously. You really needed to work on quick lies. Just come up with something to get you out the door, and think of a long term cover up later. With more confidence you continued, “A question that you should know the answer to! Joan told me her mom emailed you about her sleepover tonight after the grad party, and that you emailed back that I could go.” That wasn’t a good lie, you ditz. That’s the kind of that would get you and another person into trouble! Only a fool among idiots would believe your half-baked bullshi-

“Well, alright. I don’t recall responding to an email like that, but I do remember seeing an email from Mrs. Jordan. I’m fine with it, but remember to tell your dad on the way out.” She was about to leave when she turned and added, “I have a feeling I know what you girls are going to do; so long as you don’t do drugs and you wrap it up first, I’m fine with whatever you ladies have planned for the evening.” The tips of your ears began to buzz with warmth and you rolled your eyes.

“Mom, please!”

“No no no, babycakes. I used to be a young woman too, hankering for a rough-and-tumble man to sweep me off my feet and make me feel everything.” You nearly gagged. “Just remember: don’t follow after your friends if they try to snag an older man. None of that ‘if he’s 38, I’m 38 too’ nonsense. You hear me?” She fixed you with a look as you gaped at her, silently willing her to go. With her point having been made, she left, the sound of her house slippers getting quieter as she walked down the stairs. 

You needed to leave now. Before you forgot, you shot a text to Joan telling her what you said so that she knew. Lying was not your forte, learning was. You hurried yourself and walked out of your room, but stopped at the banister and looked towards the third floor. Perhaps you should say something to your dad? He would probably weasel the truth from you with only a look of disappointment, but he was weak. He couldn’t physically block you from leaving, if it came to that. Anxiety squeezed into your heart, and reminded you that you couldn’t even help him yesterday when he needed it. It pushed its’ fangs into the chambers of the powerful muscle, where its venom and your blood mingled to be pumped all over your body. You stood gripping the banister, fear soaking into the very fabric of your being. You couldn’t face him, not with the knowledge that you were about to run away and prove him right. 

So you left, having lied to your mother and without having said a word to your father. Closing the trunk of your car, you caught him staring at you from his window on the third floor. He watched with accusatory eyes, as if he already knew what you were up to. It was like he was daring you to leave. You glared and got into your car. Then you drove off, willing your eyes not to look at the rearview window. 

The trees that bordered the long driveway stood tall and foreboding as you passed beneath their hanging arms. They frowned down on you, disapproving of nearly every decision you’ve made. They watched you grow up to be your father’s daughter; you were such a smart, fortunate girl with the sun in her eyes and a brain filled with sheer intelligence. If you had such a good head on your shoulders, then how come you refused to use that head of yours now? It was such a shame to watch you leave and go out into the unknown. Even the gates were sad to see you go, waving and creaking behind you, demanding for you not to leave. Their combined anger buzzed with malicious energy through every cell and particle they possessed before being released up and infecting the air above. For once, the midwestern sky was not so blue. 

______________

For 171 fucking miles and 3½ hours on the I-69 south, Bloomington better be worth the trip. It was 2:00 pm, you had already gotten the address and directions from Andrew, and you were now second guessing your ability to read street signs. You thought about turning on the GPS, but the reason you kept it off in the first place was because your parents could track you with it. Maybe you made a wrong turn? 

The dewy, thick forest air and densely packed trees soothed your agitation, but not enough to eradicate it. You’d rarely been so deep within a wooded area, since Monroe was mainly farm country. Many of the trees were aged; their bark had green lichen blooming up and along their trunks like elegant tattoos. The forest canopy was shifting and swaying, making the sunlight dance like stage spotlights on the ground. The ground itself was covered with tangled roots. Foliage of all shapes and sizes clambered to reach the sunlight through the few gaps that were available, packing together like the city dwellers in trains you had read about. While you were driving, you noticed that a few roots had even been so bold as to come and upheave sections of the pavement on the road: an example of mother nature overcoming man. 

You were frustrated with yourself. Could you really not follow directions? If Andrew were here, he’d be laughing his ass off at your sudden incompetence, and that knowledge only flustered you further. The nature was great out here, but you felt like you had been driving in circles for the past 20 minutes because everything looked the same. Eventually, you reached a pedestrian crossing on the road made of alarming yellow paint, which greatly contrasted the muted colors of the forest. There was a sign close to the path on your right that said there was a forest reserve information shack a half a mile up the path. Impatience clouded your better judgement as you pulled off the road, turned off the engine, and aggressively shut the door. You were tired of being lost, so you gave up and began walking to the one person out here who could rectify that. 

You hiked up the path, paying close attention to where the signs were sending you this time. Your muscles clung tightly together in your calves, this upward march being their first exercise in almost 4 hours. Despite your discomfort, being outside and so far from home exhilarated you. For as far as your eyes could see, you were the only person out here, and knowing that caused a charged, animated feeling to course through your veins. You were perfectly solitary for the first time in months.

You delayed arriving at the information shack only to enjoy the outside a little longer. Once you got there, a man you didn’t recognize was already conversing with the Park Ranger behind the desk. 

“-five years I’ve been gone, and you’re still working here?” The man addressed the Ranger in a friendly way, the two of them chuckling. His voice was a rumbling tenor that instantaneously got your attention. 

“Where else did you expect me to be? Working for your old man again?” The Ranger had yet to notice you.

You didn’t mind being ignored by the Ranger for now, because something else caught your immediate notice. The capillaries in your cheeks were suddenly overcome by flaming blood pumping through them, the heat radiating from your skin. Hot damn, this display was making you more than a little hot under the collar. The man had vibrant blonde hair, close cut on the sides of his head but a little longer at the top, that was swept jauntily to the side, and a thick, golden-skinned neck. Broad shoulders were held strong and confident by coiled muscles, and tapered nicely into a slim waist. His biceps were bulging, and his forearms were pleasantly veiny, from what you could see from your position by the door. His shirt was barely holding him in! His elbows were on the counter in front of him as he was leaned toward the Ranger, so you had an unobstructed view of what could only be described as America’s assTM, and his dad-jeans did little to hide his sturdy, built thighs. You may have been exaggerating at this point, but you could swear you felt the testosterone emanating from his very being. 

Once you were finished appraising him, you managed to look back up and made eye contact with the Ranger behind the desk, who smirked once you noticed him. 

“Need some help, miss?” 

The guy you had been looking at turned around, giving you a quick once over before crossing his robust arms over his impressive chest, leaning back on the counter. You had no idea Lake Tahoe could be bottled up and poured into someone’s eyes. He had a Roman nose that sat atop pouty lips, and thick brows that squared off his features attractively. You cleared the phlegm from your throat to regain your composure and looked to the Park Ranger.

“Yes, sir. I’m trying to find this address.” You tentatively approached the counter, trying to keep as much distance between you and Mr. Handsome as possible. 

The Ranger read the slip of paper you handed to him out loud, and then glanced at his friend, who you could see looking at you curiously from the corner of your eye. 

“Well, let me mark it on a map for you.” 

The Ranger was explaining how to get to the address, and had informed you that you weren’t too far from it. The man off to the side stood there staring at you, making you less than comfortable. Once you had gotten more specific directions than Andrew had been able to provide, you left the shack as quickly as possible, feeling the man’s eyes go after you. 

No matter how handsome someone was, being weird never had an excuse. Geez! No one had ever stared at you that unapologetically before. Yeah, you were checking him out only a few moments ago, but at least he was turned around and unaware for most of it! 

Just as you got back to the road, you heard the quick pop of a door opening, and the sound of shoes slapping against the wood-chip path. It was the man, running toward you full force with his intimidating bulk. He called out for you to wait, but your fight or flight instinct was activated by very real stranger danger. You bolted for the car and practically threw yourself inside once you unlocked it. By the time you turned the engine on and were beginning to pull off, he catapulted in front of the car and slammed his palms against the hood, forcing you to a halt. 

“Hey! Wait a minute-” You gave him a look before backing up and swerving to his left, trying desperately to drive off. His hands slipped from the hood and he lost his balance, so you thought your trick had worked. However, he righted himself with inhuman speed, and countered by heaving himself onto the hood of the vehicle, kneeling there with his hands on the top of the roof. You had to stop now that there was an entire person on your car. You felt cornered, even though there was thick plexiglass between you two. 

“Stop, please,” he huffed a muffled breath that fogged up against the glass, and leaned his head down to make better eye contact with you. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be Andrew’s younger sister, would you?” 

You gawked incredulously up at him with your hands gripping the steering wheel for dear life. 

“I’m Jack, Jack Morrison. Your brother’s told me a lot about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle reminder: commenting when you get a reference fills me with determination ;)


	3. Our Boys in Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think you've misread Jack's friendliness. Jack suspiciously watches two men, one of which you recognize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I've been interning with a judge for the past week and a half, and I got swamped with work. Also, I actually already had a chapter three written out, but I didn't like many parts of it, so I edited the crap out of. To make up for that, I made this one extra long. I hope y'all enjoy! 
> 
> Alright folks, here's the rundown of warnings/notes: 
> 
> I curse a lot, and
> 
> there are footnotes in the End Note section

You never thought you could feel so uncomfortable in your own car. Riding shotgun was not nearly as comfortable as the driver’s seat, which was well worn and plush from years of intergenerational ownership. The cup holder on this side was jammed with unused tissues and what looked like a gum wrapper. The carpeting was clean and dense from what felt like years without someone’s shoes being on it. This side of the car was almost foreign to you, for you haven’t sat there since your brother first got the car, but despite your discomfort and strong urge to fight your way back into the driver’s seat, your tired mind welcomed not having to focus on the road any more.

This car was the only hand-me-down that you ever appreciated and kept longer than a few months. Your aunt gave it to Andrew when he was 16, and he was so attached to it he couldn’t be seen without it for more than 3 hours at a time. Gosh, were you jealous of him then. In your younger mind, a car was the closest anyone could get to a personal set of wings; sometimes, when you felt all kinds of frustration, most of which had to do with familial problems, you would give anything to speed down an open road and drive your anger away. 

To feel an adrenaline rush that only comes from danger, with your back firmly against the seat and your car gliding easily over pavement: that was just the medicine you needed for your heartache. Your longing lead to fascination, so naturally, you read about cars and their mechanics to sate your growing appetite. You also watched a few movies and documentaries about cars when the written word wasn’t enough. Still, you wanted your own car. Your own set of wings. 

Then Andrew went off to war. He left you his precious car, and a few other things. Said he’d given them to you so that you’d have something to remember him by. However, you were only 13 at the time and quick to anger, so you hit him for presuming that he wouldn’t make it off the battlefield alive and wouldn’t need his belongings. 

In his 5 year absence, Andrew’s car became a keystone in keeping you sane without him. He was the fortified wall that protected you from the cold command of your father. He was the person who bundled you up and drove you out to the middle of nowhere when you needed a breather. Lord knows your mother couldn’t do much when your father got mad; she was tired most times, and trying to avoid his anger as well. When Andrew left, multiple thoughts and emotions ran rampant through your mind and body. Your first defense, your brother, your friend was gone and off to war, where he could very well be killed. 

You expected Andrew not to be able to have any contact with home while he was a fresh recruit in bootcamp, so you were surprised when you got a facetime call from him, in the middle of the day no less, interrupting physics class. Your scalding embarrassment and Mr. Karb’s noise of indignation melted away once you read the caller ID. You could do nothing but impatiently wait till the end of the day to call him back.

You cried when you first saw his blurry, smiling face come onto your laptop screen. You felt all kinds of feelings: sympathy, comfort, reassurance, excitement, but the one that made itself most apparent was despair. He’d only been gone a week, and yet so much about him had already changed; Andrew didn’t tease or smirk when he noticed your tears, he only smiled and whispered ‘I missed you too.’ His good-natured boyishness that could charm a room looked like it had been beaten out of him. The darkness of the room was thick, a stark contrast to the artificial light that glared at his face, making his heavy eyes more prominent. He looked fatigued. His hair was all buzzed off, he was tanned, and you thought you saw a bandage somewhere on him while he was shifting around. Already, your brother was being molded to the US Army standard, and it had only been a week. These thoughts troubled you long after the 15-minute video call: his drill sergeant nearly caught him with the tablet he had smuggled in, so he ended the call in a hurry and left you dissatisfied.

In the facetimes that followed the first, you’d see Andrew sitting there in the darkness of his shared barracks, with his induction haircut and growing eye bags. You were steadily getting used to seeing the shape of his skull instead of the hair that used to be there. It was when you made the observation that he was growing a small beard that something in you snapped a little. You were sick of watching your brother grow into a man from behind a shitty screen, surrounded by people you didn’t know, and being subject to training regimens meant to break him on an everyday basis. After all the hell of training, he could die, his body could go missing, his funeral could be empty-casket, and the last memory you’d have of him alive would be through a glitchy, poor-quality screen. Of course, you never verbalized this complaint. There was no need to risk upsetting him. 

However, you were very angry. You understood that Andrew wanted to serve in the army. You accepted that he wanted to keep you, your family, and your country safe. You patiently listened to him as animatedly explained the new things he was learning everyday, the soldiers that were there with him and all the silly antics they got up to together, the moments of discouragement he felt at times, and the food they ate, and the workouts they did, and the new tac gear they had access to, and the tech they used, and the temperature and experiences and everything. It seemed he forgot that he had a little sister at home who was forced to bend and mold to fill the gap he left in the family.

Honestly, you didn’t want to be unfair. He was risking his life to fight in a war that needed to be fought. But in a way, while he was still in Monroe, the two of you fought your own private war called ‘life’. His life changed the day he inlisted, and detached from yours. 

It was then you realized that, in a way, Andrew’s car was all you had left of him.

So when it was your turn to get your driver’s license, you refused to let your dad buy one of the new hover cars that everyone was talking about online. All that reading on mechanics would finally come in handy, anyway. Your dad argued that he could get his precious little girl a new, fast, nice car, but it still wouldn’t be Andrew’s car. The car that smelled like there were royal-pine air fresheners crammed into the seats. The car where you glued an embarrassing photo of Andrew breakdancing onto the roof as a part of an elaborate prank, only to later realize that you accidentally used super glue. The car that had the seat stain from spilled ice cream that looked kinda like Pee-wee Herman- only from a certain angle. 

There was a particularly stressful time that you almost literally lived in that car: the only times you left it were to use the bathroom and get food. It was… gross, but the car’s familiarity, combined with the good memories from when you and Andrew spent hours in there together had soothed your mind. Your family’s disgust with your new “living condition” only pushed you to cling to the old car even more. At that time, Mr. Morgan was perhaps your only true friend. He showed up a lot to bring you a few books he brought with him when he first moved, and he often sat and listened to you talk about different mechanisms you were learning about in school. The car and Mr. Morgan are what got you through whatever moment you were having, and that made you appreciate both dearly.

You didn’t let other people even touch Andrew’s car. You waxed it, cleaned it, and kept it in good order yourself. This car was your precious baby, and you needed to keep it alive so that you could give it back to Andrew as a ‘See, you didn’t die’ present. Yet here you were, somewhere in Bloomington, Indiana and not the one driving.

Side glaring at the blonde cornball who was strumming his fingers against the steering wheel, you asked yourself for the umpteenth time why you let this ‘Jack Morrison’ commandeer your darling vehicle. 

After he had forcibly stopped you by jumping onto the hood of the car- you were never going to forget that- he dazzled his way into the front seat with a debonair smile and a concrete argument: he had found you lost in the nature reserve. 

You might as well let him drive you back to his place, sweetheart, it’d be easier on the two of you like this. How? Well, he was hiking the trails for the better part of the morning and didn’t bring his car, so he would get a free ride back, and you would benefit from not getting impossibly lost again. You’ve already heard of him right? Of course you’ve heard of him, he was your brother’s friend! So you weren’t really strangers in the truest sense, and all he wanted was to take you to his place so that y’all could get to know each other better. Ah, that sounded vaguely sexual. Sorry. Also, apologies for jumping onto the hood of your car- by the way, he had no explanation for that besides impulse, which isn’t an excuse he knew but it was all he could supplement. Just do him a favor, yeah? Let him drive you home. 

That’s the situation you found yourself in: uncomfortable and tucked in the farthest corner of the passenger seat, staying as far away from Jack as you possibly could. You didn’t even want to look at him. He was a stranger ‘in the truest sense’ (to quote the man himself), who decided to force his way into your car all because of an indirect introduction made by your brother. I mean, Jack had a fair point; you were agitated from the three hour drive, plus getting miserably lost, and you would probably let your impatience get the better of you if you were the one driving then. So you acquiesced, switched seats, and settled in for what you presumed to be a very uncomfortable ride. 

You were totally checked out 4 minutes into the drive. The hazy summer air was nearly tangible, and it was lulling you to sleep. It felt like a fuzzy, thick blanket that you were completely swaddled in, limiting your movement, and you wanted nothing more than to rest. The need to nap pulled on your hair, so that your head came to rest against the window. However, you couldn’t fall asleep while in a car with a complete stranger, so you willed your drowsy conscience to focus on Bloomington’s pretty streets and elegant shops. 

“I’m Jack by the way.” His voice was softer than it had been earlier. You were nodding off when he brought you back to your senses, and you turned your head to fix him with your bleary eyes. 

“You already said that earlier. Y’know, when you were sat there on the hood.” You murmured and pointed to where he had been. You felt a little miffed from having been woken up. The exhaustion was catching up to you, and your ‘give a shit’ meter was running pretty low. You didn’t care about falling asleep in the presence of this strange, attractive man anymore. His voice filled the car smoothly.

“I know I said that we’re not really strangers, but I think you should introduce yourself to me. I wanna hear who you are from you, not from Andrew’s description.”

You sighed out your name and a few quick facts about yourself; based off of your first interaction with Jack, you didn’t know if you could get along with a guy like him. He seemed awfully full of himself, regardless of his killer bod. Bored of looking out the window, you lolled your head upwards and looked at him, wanting to gauge his reaction to your unenthused introduction and expecting to see his profile as he drove. You were alarmed to find his impossibly blue eyes looking directly at you while the vehicle was in motion. 

“Eyes on the damn road!” You were flailing in the passenger seat, trying to redirect his attention back to the traffic. He kept his eyes on you for a terrifyingly long moment, observing your panicked state, and then looked back at the road, but not before releasing a humored huff. You couldn’t believe him! Who the hell did he think he was, endangering your life like that. 

“Apologies sweetheart,” he flashed you a bright smile that you immediately found attractive. “It’s hard for me to focus when there’s such a pretty girl sitting only a few feet away.”

You did feel your skin heat at his words, but a slick one-liner wasn’t good enough to fog your reasoning. 

“That’s not an excuse for removing your eyes from the road.”

“Well, maybe to you, but it was worth it for me.”

You side-glanced his way again, your face contorted in disbelief. You gulped and turned slowly to face him, a sudden energy flowing through your veins and washing the will to sleep from your system. 

“Is the possibility of getting into an accident worth it to you?” 

“First of all, I know these roads better than the back of my hand, so I doubt I would ever get into an accident. However, I’ll entertain the hypothetical: if we were to get into an accident today, heaven forbid, because of my negligence, I would do the right thing and save you. I’d be your perfect hero.”

You chuckled at that. Perhaps it was a little forced, but you were entertained nevertheless. 

“So you, my self-proclaimed hero, would save me from a situation that you got me into?”

“Of course! Ever since meeting you in the woods, I’ve gained a new mission: to deliver you, the princess, to Andrew in one piece.”

“Y’know you are awfully smooth, Jack Morrison.”

“Thank you, sweetheart, but uh, just for clarification’s sake: if I freeze it won’t be because of a computer virus. I would merely just be stunned by your beauty.”

You openly laughed this time at his terrible pick-up-line, and Jack gave you another of his alluring smiles that reached his eyes, and laughed with you. He placed his right hand on your mid thigh and patted twice before leaving his hand there for a few seconds. You knew it was just a friendly gesture, but wow did it fluster you. His large palm was startlingly warm against your tensed leg. Your heart jumped into your throat when his strong fingers squeezed, and it fell back down where it should have been when he took his hand to the wheel. 

You let out a nervous huff. He must’ve known what he was doing to your heart; you were pretty sure he could hear it from the driver’s seat. You felt a gap in the easy dialogue beginning to form, so you quickly thought to fill it, considering you enjoyed the previous enjoyable atmosphere. 

“I just want to let you know,” you began, looking up at him while offering a frisky smirk, “that you’re making an awful first impression.” 

He scoffed in mock offense. 

“Oh ho ho!” He wiggled in his seat in time with each word, “as if your first impression was any better!” 

He looked over in time to see your evident confusion.

“Don’t play innocent! I saw you checking me out.” Sudden uneasiness demanded that you explain yourself, but he cut you off before you could. “Nuh-uh, you can’t deny it sweetheart. I saw you, like you were getting ready to pounce on me. Like I was your feast and you were a woman starved.”

You let a doubting laugh burst from you and slapped your knee, but you were clearly enjoying yourself. 

“I call BS. You were turned around! You couldn’t have possibly seen me once I entered that information shack.” You crossed your arms over your chest for further emphasis. With his hands still on the steering wheel, he leaned closer to you while laughing. 

“So you admit you were ogling at me?” Jack’s voice took a deeper, spine-tingling tone, and you could only flush in response. “You’re right; My back was to you and I didn’t know for sure, but you just outed yourself, hun!” 

“Well, my poor, young heart and I had no chance against a casanova like yourself.”

The brilliant red of a stop light filtered into the car, tinting you, Jack and your surroundings. It gave everything a fiery tone without actually providing any heat. You noticed Jack hadn’t supplied a reply to your retort yet; you’d fully expected him to, considering he had no problem keeping you on your toes in previous conversation. 

You turned to look at him, and again he was already looking at you, but something in his expression had changed from the first time. 

You couldn’t help but stare into his eyes as they met yours. You really saw Lake Tahoe in all its unbridled, unmatched glory. You’d only ever seen pictures of the Calafornian lake on your laptop, but his eyes were damn near a perfect match to the fresh waters you’d seen time and time again. Earlier in the information shack, you had thought you saw the light, transparent water dancing calmly for the summer sun bottled up in those eyes. It was an odd sight now to see those clear blues surrounded by so much shocking red. 

You were going to ask him if something was wrong, but he beat you to it. 

“Just how young is young?” Your brows furrowed. That’s what he was concerned about? You didn’t understand where the sudden mood shift had come from, but it was so abrupt you nearly flinched when he broke the pause in conversation. 

“Young meaning 18. What,” your voice held a joking, mock sympathy, “my brother never told you? I’m sure he’d tell his army buddies who his brat of a younger sister was.” 

You had given him bait to start up a new tête-à-tête, but he wasn’t biting. Instead, he looked almost embarrassed as he ignored your question, and turned away from you to look out the windshield. He opened his side window and put his arm out against the exterior of the car as the red light changed to green.

You sat there staring at his profile for a few prolonged seconds. Then, you put your back firmly onto your seat. What had happened? Did you say something wrong? The mood went from warm and playful to cold and distant in what felt like the blink of an eye.

“Do your parents know you’re here?” Jack’s tone was serious now, and you were once again unexplainably uncomfortable in your own car. The questioned sounded a lot like an accusation, and you crossed your arms over your chest in defense.

“No? Andrew told me in a letter that he didn’t want them to know he was back in state.”

Jack breathed out a long and heavy sigh before letting his head drop to the headrest.

“Listen kid,” you felt yourself jump. Kid? Where did that come from? “I’m sorry. You don’t look your age, and I took it too far- the flirting, I mean. It won’t happen again, scout’s honor.” The weighted summer air pushed its way into the car from his window, and the awkwardness that hung in the air pushed down on your shoulders. 

It’s not that you wanted a relationship with him; he was clearly older than you, but having such an attractive man openly flirt with you made you feel special. And, perhaps from your inexperience and naivety, or from the excitement of meeting and spending time with a new person, undeniable attraction had already blossomed in the center of your heart. 

You pulled your dispirited countenance together and composed yourself before answering. 

“It’s fine. I get that a lot- the ‘you look older than you are’ spiel I mean.” You uncrossed your arms from your chest and propped them up behind your head. You knew the danger of your next sentence, that your hope was reaching too far out, but you couldn’t stop yourself from trying. “Besides, you and Andrew are the same age, so you’re not that much older than me anyways.”

The light of a passing vehicle going the opposite way quickly flashed over you and him, highlighting his surprise and your mask of nonchalance. 

“5 years is ‘not that much’?” The playfulness was back in his voice. That was a good sign!

“Nope, it’s not.” You felt a tangible pause in conversation after that. I guess he didn’t want to talk after that? 

Oh gosh, hun. You goofed. He was turned off by your age, and that shouldn’t have saddened you as much as it did. Still, you didn’t see the problem with your age compared to his. He was only 5 years older than you. You were totally fine with an age difference; you liked older men anyways, and he seemed into you for a moment! Maybe he just wanted to speak to you because it would be rude not to? You really hoped you didn’t read him the wrong way. What if he told Andrew about this?! Your older brother would be laughing for weeks!

For a few minutes, you watched the infrastructure of Smithville1 pass slowly by while you rocked one of your legs from side to side. You slouched further into your seat, and brought your hands down to rest on your stomach. A few more minutes passed when you felt the hairs on your calf being shifted by a small bug, so you swatted at it to get it to fly away. You hissed when you accidentally knocked your hand against the door. More minutes passed, and you started to count all the old people you saw wearing socks and sandals to distract you. Finally, you breathed out through your nose rather loudly, already bored with the entirety of Smithville, as it looked almost exactly like Monroe. 

Your eyes drooped a little as you looked back at Jack, who was frowning at whatever he saw in the rear view mirror. Jack noticed you looking at him and smiled a little too widely and too quickly for it not to be considered suspicious. You narrowed your eyes. He was covering something up.

“Uhh, so this your first time in Bloomington, right? Ever been to a Moon Boys2?” You would’ve answered in the negative, but he had already pulled over to the curb. He told you with a cheeky grin that he couldn’t let himself live if he didn’t open your door for you, so you waited in your seat and watched the bright, moon-shaped sign of ‘Moon Boys! Ice cream Emporium’ slowly spin on its axis. Jack held the door open like a gentleman and smiled, but only until your eyes looked away from him. He sent a cautionary glance over his shoulder to another car that had just parked a few feet away from the two of you. Jack walked behind you as he led you inside, where he was immediately and boisterously greeted by customers and workers alike. Jack greeted them all in turn with vivacity, and motioned for you to join his side at the counter once he realized you had lagged behind a bit because you were taken by the interior of this place. 

The store was out of this world! You were really digging the colorful galaxy theme. As soon as you walked in, you felt the excited buzz in the air, most likely caused by all the families with young children in here. The furniture style screamed 1950’s diner, but the outer space decorations gave it a nice twist. The large windows allowed much of the night sky to be seen from inside the establishment, and you appreciated that for a moment. The ceiling was painted black, and brightly colored stars and planets were stuck everywhere on it, like a cartoon galaxy. The booth seats were a luscious red, and looked springy and comfortable from what you could tell. The booth tables themselves were shaped and painted like one of the 8 planets of our solar system, and had ‘Test Your Knowledge!’ quizzes and ‘Planet Puns!’ printed onto each one. The icecream bar was, of course, space themed, and you took notice of one behemoth of a treat that was bigger than the head of the little boy that was staring up at it in awe. Once you got to the counter and read the menu boards posted high above the cashier’s head, you realized they served way more than just ice cream here. 

“Well if it isn’t Johnny Boy Morrison finally come back to Moon Boys for a treat. I heard you got back a day or two ago, so why’re you just showin’ up now?”  
Jack waved amicably at the teen behind the register that had addressed him, and apologized for not stopping by sooner.

The cashier, a boy probably your age, was the person that greeted Jack from behind the counter. He had soft brown eyes that drooped a little, surrounded by 2 sets full of lashes. He looked an awful lot like a puppy, a chocolate lab to be specific. His hair was umber in color, bangs cut off at his eyebrows, while the rest curved nicely against his face. He had a strong neck and shoulders, and- was that ink you spotted? A stag tattoo possibly? He looked adorable in his fun, astronaut-themed uniform: an apron printed to look like the front of a Nasa spacesuit, over a long-sleeved white shirt. He was also wearing a bucket hat that had cartoon spaceships, aliens and planets on it. The only accessory you felt he was missing was a pair of clout glasses. 

The cashier’s eyes raked over you, and his smile broadened, “And with a special lady too, huh? You never had it bad when it came to gettin’ the honeys, Johnny.” You were pretty sure Jack was gonna deny his claim, but you stepped in ahead of him. 

“We’re not dating, he’s just showing me around.” You offered a pleasant smile and placed your hands on the counter, ready to choose from the interesting flavors they had listed on their menu board and get seated. 

“If our dear John here can’t seduce you then I have an even slimmer chance,” he leaned over the counter, getting a little too close for comfort, “but I sure as hell can try for a prize like you.” He winked and shot at you using finger guns. Oy vey, flirtation came real easy to the men in this town. 

Your heart skipped a beat when Jack’s hand grasped firmly at your waist, and he leaned his body close to yours. For having met him only a few hours ago, he was being pretty touchy. 

“Sorry, Logan. She’s the little sister of an army buddy of mine, so I can’t just let you make her feel uneasy like that. Unless,” he paused, adding an edge to his tone, “you want to know what it’s like to get beat up by not one, but two soldiers?” Despite the suave smile that reached his eyes and displayed nothing but mirth, his body language and voice felt dangerous, like a snake waiting in tall grass.

Again, his palm was so damn warm in comparison to you. His hand was sure in its grip, his strong forearm laid gently across your lower back, his head close behind your own. You could feel his moist breath fan out against the back of your neck whenever he exhaled, dotting your skin with goosebumps. He felt dominant and safe.

The cashier, whom you could now identify as Logan, instantaneously backed off the counter and put his hands up in surrender. Jack apparently held a lot of leeway in this town. You let him order for you after that since you’d never been to a Moon Boys before, telling him what flavors you preferred over others. He was back to conversing normally with Logan, who was noticeably nervous while inputting your orders into the monitor in front of him. 

Jack tensed when the bell to the door chimed, signalling someone’s entrance into the shop. You tried to turn to get a glimpse of who they were, but Jack’s hand pressed harder against your side in warning. After Jack handed Logan his card, ignoring your protest to let you pay for your own at least, he led you to a booth in the back, where he switched your positions so that he was facing the front of the store, and you the back wall. 

Jack strummed his fingers absentmindedly against the table top as he stole glances in the general direction of the cashier. You felt awkward sitting and not talking, so you asked him the question that was nagging at you once you sat down.

“So, when Logan flirts with me you get upset, but when you do it everything’s okay?”

He snapped his attention away from whatever it was he’d been looking at and gave you a confused look. 

“What?” You raised your eyes, unimpressed. “Oh, uh, no. I already apologized for that, remember?” He redirected his focus to the front of the store. 

You watched Jack as he intently analyzing the front of the store, like a guard dog on the brink of going batshit. What interested him so much that he wouldn’t even look at you, let alone talk to you? You followed his line of sight, putting your forearm on top of the booth chair and lifting yourself up so that you could see over it. 

Two men, dressed casually save for their sunglasses and baseball hat combos, were talking to Logan. 

The man closest to you, a short, meatball-shaped guy, was asking Logan something, but he didn’t hold your attention for long. You recognized the other man, but couldn’t quite put your finger on who he was. He was tall and lanky, cleanly shaven, and stood with his back straight as he surveyed the shop’s occupants. Where had you seen his features before?

His face turned in your direction and stopped. He poked meatball-man on the shoulder, and nodded towards your booth when he had his partner’s attention.

Suddenly, a foot gave your ankle a sharp kick from under the table, and you fell ungracefully from your previous position. You looked at Jack vexedly, your facial expression demanding an explanation for the attack. He answered in a low, cautious voice, and glanced back at the two men.

“Don’t stare at them, you nitwit!” You started at the insult, outraged that he called you such a degrading name.

“What? Why?”

“Lower your voice.” The once calm lake waters within Jack’s eyes were now turbulent from agitation, and you flinched from their intensity. They calmed to gentle ripples when he noticed that he’d scared you. 

“Has your brother ever told you about the Soldier Enhancement Program?” His eyes resumed their diligent watch, moving with the two men as they sat and occupied a seat not too far from your own. Then, he looked back at you. You thought back to the letter your brother sent you, and remembered that he had written about a program he was recently enrolled in. 

“I think he mentioned it in previous correspondence. Why?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a peppy waitress that brought over two sundaes on a tray. She placed your orders down and greeted Jack with a big smile, some of her white teeth made a light pink by her lipstick that had rubbed off on them. Your eyes widened when you, and you nearly laughed at her confident ignorance as she chatted him up. Jack tapped your leg with the tip of his shoe in gentle reprimand beneath the table, willing you not to embarrass the woman, while he tried to keep up with her many questions. There was no chance for you to easily jump in, considering they were talking about whatever history they had together, but just because you weren’t talking didn’t mean you weren’t listening. When you laughed along with her and Jack at something he’d said, she side-eyed you and raised her groomed eyebrows disrespectfully. You sent a withering glare to the side of her head once she, acting as if you didn’t exist, turned back to Jack. You made sure to interrupt her in the middle of her sentence in order to exact your revenge.

“I’m sorry, but I think the customers over there are trying to get your attention.” You pointed over to an elderly couple that had tried to wave her over before she decided to haunt your table. You didn’t want to be rude, so you skipped over the whole ‘that means you should leave and get back to your job’ bit. She rolled her eyes at the guiltless look you gave her, and sauntered away to do what she was being paid to do, but not before waving goodbye to Jack. You watched her as she left, feeling no admiration for her quality of character. Jack cleared his throat to get you to look at him. He sat with both elbows on the table, his locked fingers propping his head up over his hands as he gave you the most pompous look you have ever seen. 

“Are you jealous of all the attention I’m getting?” He waggled his eyebrows. 

You believed he was trying to goad a wagish reaction from you, but the stinging memory of your embarrassment in the car gave you pause. You didn’t want to start your relationship with Jack expecting and wanting something that he thought would never happen. You had to control yourself, or you would hurt yourself. Instead, you rolled your eyes and tried to get him back on topic. 

“You said something about an enhancement program?” He smirked when you changed the subject, and took a nice spoonful from his sundae. 

“Those guys over there are a part of the program.” Damn, the way he was eating was one notch up from a pig that hasn’t seen slop in a week. “They followed us here. Probably to make sure we don’t try to desert or something along those lines. When Gabe flies over, he’ll probably have a few tailing him too.” You tilted your head. Who’s ‘Gabe’? 

“I’ve heard nightmares from older soldiers that barely survived the government’s previous experiments.” He looked you dead in the eye as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “They were all failed experiments. So many people were dying left and right, and others completely disappearing, that soldiers stopped applying. Applicant pools were shrinking while we were losing more footing on our hold in the eastern US.” Jack sighed and looked back to his sundae. 

“So the big wigs decided that they’d just start forcing people into it. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t regret enlisting and fighting for America, and I knew that I might be KIA3 someday. It’s just that,” he paused, and looked up at the glittery stars and planets on the ceiling. “There’s a very real possibility of me dying because of whatever experimental drugs they’re gonna pump into me, and I’d rather be alive to see my country liberated than die knowing Omnics are still killing countless people.” 

A little part of you died on the inside. When your brother had left to join the military, you knew he could get hurt or die, but you gave little thought to how much of his life he’d never get to live. Jack and Andrew were young: both 23-years-old. 23 years worth of life under their belts was not much. They could only have a few more years left, and they’d never know. Of course, no one ever knows when they’re going to die. Normal, first-world domestics go about their days unafraid. They didn’t wake up and ask themselves: ‘Is today the day I’m going to die?’ They didn’t question whether or not they’d be able to make it safely back home to their families, and that was because they were protected by men and women who didn’t have that same certainty. Enlisting in any branch of the military in this day and age was a one way ticket to a final rest 6 feet under. Omnics weren’t human; they were not mentally capable of processing any emotion, but were able to their follow orders ‘till the very end. It was their sole purpose. So if an Omnic, with its preternatural bodily strength and irate, red eyes, happened upon Andrew while he was bleeding out and defenseless, would it hold its fire because your brother wouldn’t be a threat? Of course not. 

Jack watched as your moods showed clearly across your countenance. He could tell by your dull look that you were thinking about the war, and that it was his fault. 

“Hey,” he smiled, and put his large palm on top of your fingers. “Don’t think about that. You haven’t touched your sundae yet. Eat, so that I can drive you home to your brother.” 

You took small spoonfuls, hoping your appetite would come back to you after a taste or two. Without looking up, you asked Jack if it was okay to ask him a question. He was still looking at you as he hummed in response, rubbing reassuring circles on your hand with his thumb. 

“Are you sure you aren’t just being paranoid?”

He huffed a laugh, one that moved his shoulders. 

“I’m military, sweetheart, that’s my job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes: 
> 
> 1) Smithville is a real place in Bloomington, Indiana  
> 2) Moon Boys is not a real place, and I made it up  
> 3) KIA means killed in action 
> 
> Don't forget to comment any questions, concerns, reference spottings, or mistakes that I missed while editing
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
